“If that was meant to be a joke,” said Torin, “it was not very funny.”
Haegr roared with mirth and Ragnar was forced to join him.
Valkoth appeared in the doorway. “Still lazing about, eh?” he said gruffly. “Well, get up off that bed and get ready for duty. You are needed in the presence room.”
Ragnar marched into the presence room. He felt almost fully recovered now. His senses had started to return. The place was just as he remembered. The other Wolfblades flanked him. All of them looked smug as if they knew something he did not.
The Celestarch looked down gravely from her throne. She looked older somehow, and there was a sorrow and an anger in her eyes that had not been there during their first meeting. She stretched out her arms regally.
“We are only here because of you, Ragnar, and our House would be finished were it not for your bravery.”
“I only did my sworn duty,” Ragnar replied.
“Nonetheless, Belisarius owes you a debt of gratitude, and I am prepared to show our appreciation.”
Ragnar said nothing. To do anything else would have been presumptuous.
“You lost your blade while fighting to defend us. It is up to us to replace it.” She gestured and two of the guards brought forward a massive rune-encrusted weapon. It was ancient and very beautiful and its like could not have been forged in this age. “Take it,” she said.
Ragnar reached out and gripped the weapon. It fitted his hand as if it was made for him, and its balance was perfect. An aura of strange coldness radiated from the runes.
“I thank you,” said Ragnar. It was all he could say.
“This blade was borne in the time of the Emperor, by one of the first Wolfblades. It belonged to Skander before it belonged to you. See that you prove worthy of it.”
“I will do my best.”
“Now,” she said, “we have other business. We must go to council and see that a new throne is correctly chosen. Gentlemen, if you would be so good as to accompany us, we will leave at once.”
Flanking the ruler of Belisarius, they strode towards a meeting that would decide the fate of Navigators for generations to come.
EPILOGUE
The strange scent drew Ragnar from his reverie. He looked up. It was night once more and the sounds of distant carnage filled the darkness. It seemed to Ragnar that it was coming closer. All around, warriors moved, preparing for battle. Some rushed towards the front line positions. Nearby, Urlec and the rest of the Wolves checked their weapons. They looked ready to return to the fight at a moment’s notice. His nose twitched. There was a faint odour there, one that set his hackles rising.
He looked down at the blade, reluctant to let go of his memories of those long gone events and comrades and enemies. Some were dead now. Some disgraced. Some had met stranger fates. He thought of the odd twist of fortune that led him to the secret truths about the assassin on that long ago night. There was a tale that would never find its way into the Chapter’s annals. He shrugged and smiled, rising to his feet. It was good to remember the past, he thought, and where he had come from, and the long distance he had travelled but now he needed to live in the present. The smell he had caught spoke of the presence of enemies. Seeing him rise, the men rose too and made their weapons ready. He gestured for them to be wary. They responded instantly, throwing themselves into cover, leaping for foxholes, glaring out into the darkness.
The earth shook as a shell impacted nearby. The impact raised a huge cloud of earth and threw several men from their feet. Counter-battery fire blazed a trail through the night. Ragnar sniffed again. He sensed sorcery. Strange energies flowed all around. It looked like the followers of Chaos were not done yet.
He concentrated hard trying to find the source of his unease. Now that he was aware of it, it was easier to pinpoint. In the woods nearby, he now saw the massive armoured figures of Space Marines who did not belong to his Chapter and were not loyal to his Emperor. They must have cloaked their approach with magic, he thought. It looked like they were intent on repaying him for his earlier surprise assault. Ragnar felt he understood. This morning was merely one small skirmish in the unending war between the Imperium and Chaos, between the Space Wolves and the Thousand Sons. That was the way of the universe — countless warring factions and unending strife. He spoke softly into the comm-net telling his men to get ready. If they acted swiftly they could turn this sneak attack on itself.
“Fire!” he shouted, and the last vestiges of his memories were whirled away by the winds of violent actions. There was a war to win. There was always another war to win.
Scanning and basic
proofing by Red Dwarf,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.
William King, [Space Wolf 04] - Wolfblade
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